


Hydroplaning

by NeoVenus22



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 21:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeoVenus22/pseuds/NeoVenus22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Most of all, she hated herself for knowing better and doing nothing anyway.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Hydroplaning

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: up through 1x08, 'They Keep Killing Suzie'

"How long has he had it?" asked Gwen, standing by the window. There were no coverings on the window and not many on her, but she was at least a dozen stories up (not exactly sure of the number), and she'd been assured no one could see. Probably only aliens had eyesight decent enough to get a good look, and while they'd come across some perverted creatures so far, none of them had especially good eyesight that she could recall. One or the other, never both.

"I don't know," muttered Owen, who had so far refused to get out of bed. "At least as long as I've been there. Maybe longer."

"Whose is it, you wonder?" It was getting late, the lights were coming on in the distance and winking at her, pretty and faraway.

"Whose is it?"

Gwen turned around to stare at him. Anyone watching her at the window had now probably gotten a decent view of her arse, given that the borrowed shirt she was wearing only went so far. Owen had certainly gotten a good view for that matter, smirking as he lazed, and from the looks of things, had been watching her for quite some time. He had both good eyesight and perversion. She blushed at his obvious interest. "It's a hand, Owen, it must belong to someone."

"Not necessarily. Do you know the number of weird things lurking around our lovely underground home away from home?" Owen sat up, the sheets falling off his stomach and lumping in his lap, hiding the evidence. She was a little relieved; if he was hard, he'd expect her to do something about it, and she was hardly in the mood at that precise moment. He said dismissively, "It's probably some mad alien device, only looks like a hand."

"I'm sorry, that just doesn't seem right," said Gwen. She gnawed at her knuckle for a moment in thought, then looked down and realized with a sick twist she was doing it again. One of those old bad habits she could never quite manage to erase. She didn't really want to showcase more bad habits in front of Owen, didn't want to give him more fodder.

"I don't really want to know what he does with the hand, to be honest, and do you really want to waste all this time thinking about Jack?"

That irked her, and she couldn't stop herself from biting out a reply. "Why not? I'm sure you have."

"Not with the degree of obsessiveness you seem to be working towards."

"Yes, but I'm not the one who's slept with half of the team," she shot back. "How do I know Jack's not on that list, too?"

To her complete irritation, Owen smirked at this accusation, as well. "You're jealous."

"I'm jealous?" she said with an incredulousness that she sadly knew was more defensive than anything else. "Of what, that you've screwed everyone who's ever set foot inside Torchwood?"

"Jealous that you're not the only feeding at the trough," he said, which was really neither confirming nor denying.

"'Trough' is right," she snorted. "I'm sorry, Owen, but you're just not that good of a lover for me to be jealous." A lie. A big, blatant lie. She wouldn't have come back, have kept coming back, have kept coming, if it hadn't have been worth it.

Owen fell back onto his elbows, and there was his cock again, stiff and upright. It knew they were discussing it. Its owner was still grinning, having seen right through her lie and delighted by it. The fact he managed somehow to be vaguely more clothed than she did nothing to loan her any sort of high ground.

"That's where I think you're wrong," he answered, but it was a throwaway comment, one last smug pat on the back before he went for his real dig. "And what about me? I still have to share you with what's-his-face."

"Rhys," she corrected, which was another habit, another bad one. She kept trying to force the two worlds to connect, though she knew they wouldn't. Shouldn't.

"Yeah, him," said Owen. But suddenly his smirk was gone, his eyes turned serious, he sat up again. "That's in the present, Gwennie, anything I've done, or anyone, is in the past."

She didn't like where this conversation was going. She had no right to judge him, really, cheating on her boyfriend. Never mind that Owen was a bit of a slut, at least he never made promises. This was just a way of passing time between autopsies. It was hard to be offended when she felt guilty, it was hard to be jealous or righteous when she was a hypocrite.

Owen was grinning smugly at her now. He was right, he knew he was right, and she had the sneaking suspicion he got turned on by being right. Unfortunately, there was only one good way to shut him up when he got on like this.

Or two ways, actually, as Owen's mobile phone buzzed on the night table. He rolled over to fetch it, affording her a view of his backside, which was nice. "Ah," he said, checking the caller ID, "it's Captain Jack and his magic hand. You've got Owen."

Scant seconds later, Gwen heard her own mobile ringing and had to fumble through her bag to locate it. "This is Gwen," she answered.

"Gwen, we need you back at the Hub," said Tosh. "Ianto just brought in a Gravlakan foot." Gwen hadn't a clue what that was.

"All right, I'll be right there," she promised, hanging up.

Owen was shuffling out of bed. "Have you seen my pants?"

"Under the bed," she said distractedly. Cut him loose, Gwennie, a voice cautioned her as she dressed, one that could have been her mother or her best friend when she was seventeen, whomever, it didn't even matter. Gwen was starting to be too involved in this... whatever it was. Relationship was the technical term, a blanket term for any sort of interaction between any two people, but in this context it seemed ominous and altogether damning. Owen (inevitably, it would seem) would get bored and move on.

Gwen would be afforded no pity when this was over. Oddly, she thought of Suzie cackling in her grave (morgue drawer), as Gwen suffered alone for her own rash actions. She could blame no one but herself.

"All right?" asked Owen when they were both clothed, looping an arm around her waist, the leather of their jackets making a swoosh as they rubbed together. He dug his fingers into her hip, hugging the denim warmly.

"Let's go."

"It's probably just a psychological thing," offered Owen as they went to the car.

"What is?"

"The hand."

"The hand is a psychological thing?"

"Yeah."

"You mean a severed hand is a coping mechanism?" she asked, vaguely disgusted.

"What, you were expecting something more normal? Hey, I don't question into his personal life... much." Owen stared her down over the top of the car. "He might return the favor, if he hasn't already."

What a disturbing notion that was, more disturbing still that Owen so readily moved on past the idea that Jack Harkness knew about their dalliances and didn't see fit to interfere, even though everyone knew about Rhys. Gwen resented him for his lack of involvement when she was clearly making a stupid mistake, making the same stupid mistake over and over. She resented Owen for... for being Owen, she supposed. Most of all, she hated herself for knowing better and doing nothing anyway.

Owen climbed easily into the car and after a moment, Gwen followed suit. She almost lost his next words in the purr of the starting engine. "We all need a way to get through the day sometimes, right?"

Gwen settled into her seat. Down on the ground, the lights weren't as pretty. They were large, luminous, steady. A warning.


End file.
